


It's a Passable Life, I Suppose

by punsandships



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco and Luna help, Draco works at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Everyone Is Important, Everyone conveniently lives near Diagon Alley, Genderfluid Teddy Lupin, Harry runs a home for kids, It's a Wonderful Life, M/M, Merry Christmas, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Draco Malfoy, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21930514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punsandships/pseuds/punsandships
Summary: "You really had a wonderful life, Draco Malfoy."Draco has worked as a shopkeeper for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes ever since graduating from Hogwarts. Between helping his Aunt Andromeda with little Teddy, visits to Potter's Home for Children, and his hours at the store, he keeps busy. But Lockhart's Laughs is threatening to put the Weasleys out of business.A non-ending-compliant re-telling of It's a Wonderful Life (Which I'm sure has been done. Oh well, all of this has been done.)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 103





	It's a Passable Life, I Suppose

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I wrote this in like two days, which means the revision/editing isn’t everything I dream, but Merry Christmas anyway! Please let me know if there are horrifying mistakes.
> 
> 2\. My greatest regret is that I could neither cast Harry as Mr. Potter or Harry Bailey. It seems like a giant missed opportunity. 
> 
> 3\. The structure of "It's a Wonderful Life" is very weird, and I had a hard time translating that into my own story. Yay learning things. 
> 
> 4\. Kudos and Comments are the best Christmas gift I could wish for!

Draco hugged his peacoat tighter to protect himself from the stinging snow. The weather recommended something warmer, but there were two problems with that. One, his black peacoat looked excellent on him. Two, it was the only coat he currently owned. 

At least, he reasoned, he had kept the coat that looked good on him. It would only be this cold and miserable for a few more months. By this time next year, maybe he could afford something warmer.

He fished the keys out of his pocket and wiggled the correct one into the door. It took a lot of shifting and jiggling to get the shop door open. Fred said that was part of the charm of the joke shop--it was always pulling little jokes back on them. When Draco said that it wasn't funny and they should just use a spell, George pointed out that they didn't keep Draco on for his sense of humor. 

He didn't bother to explain why they did keep Draco on. Maybe it was so that they'd have someone to open the shop and turn on the lights early in the morning while Fred and George snoozed until the last minute. Or maybe, more likely, it was pity. Either way, Draco was the one responsible for being there early, starting a fire to warm the shop and re-starting the spells that made the hat on top of the building rise and fall, covering the rabbit. 

Draco checked the clock. The shop would open at seven, and they’d be on their feet all day. All three of them worked long hours in the weeks leading up to Christmas, and the shop was left a mess after all the little snot-flicking small people left their mark. The parents weren't much better. If he had to listen to another grown witch or wizard demand that he find them a pygmy puff in "a proper boy color" he could not be held responsible for his actions. 

But the shop needed the business, so Draco couldn't complain. Fred and George were geniuses at coming up with new gags and toys. But they were also Gryffindors, and while that shouldn't directly correlate with a complete lack of business acumen, it sometimes did. 

***

In other words, four months earlier, retired author Gilderoy Lockhart had opened a joke shop just down the street, and suddenly his shelves were stocked with everything that had been unique and brilliant about Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. And all at slightly lower prices. 

"You didn't have patents on anything?" Draco had raged, looking from one rather dispirited twin to the other. 

"Thought that anyone who could figure out the charms ought to have their own crack at making things," Fred muttered. "Didn't exactly foresee that they'd want to settle two shops down and put us out of business."

"I'm going down there," Draco had replied, already untying his apron with sharp motions. "This is a job for a snake." He didn't know exactly what he'd do, but there had to be some combination of knowledge and words that would frighten Lockhart out of this.

"Wait!" Fred shouted as Draco strode out the door. "Don't get yourself--"

But Draco hadn't stopped to listen. They were technically his bosses, but that was exactly why he had to do this. They couldn't be the ones threatening the competition, and they'd be terrible at it anyway, since subtlety was not in the Weasley's skill set. But the shop had to be protected, and that left Draco. 

***

It hadn’t gone well. The next day, Fred had tossed a copy of the Daily Prophet on top of the pile of Daydream Dummies that Draco was straightening. 

He always felt a bit flustered working with any of the fantasy line of products. He knew every person saw something different when they looked at the packaging. George made no secret of the fact that all his fantasies still revolved around Angelina Johnson, for instance. But Draco couldn't help worrying that Fred and George especially, as the creators of the products, would be able to see what he saw whenever he picked up the Daydream products. 

"Pleased with how that turned out, are you?"

Draco frowned at the newspaper. It wasn't turned to the front page. Even at his worst, Draco wasn't front page news. In fact, he was hardly what had made the paper. But this was still bad. He snatched up the paper and staggered a few steps back from the display. 

**Lockhart’s Laughs invites you to their month-long Grand Opening Celebration!**

**Pufflets in every shade, highest quality pranks, and toys for all ages.**

**Lockharts Laughs is owned, operated, and staffed by War Heroes, never Deatheaters.**

And there was a picture of Lockhart himself, arm in arm with Harry Potter. 

George snatched the paper out of Draco's hands. "Lockhart's Laughs is right. If he thinks he can use Harry against us, he's a fool."

Draco swallowed and forced his voice out as evenly as possible. "I understand if this changes things. If I need to lay low for a while, or if you need to make a show of sacking me." 

George waved his words away before Draco had even finished. "You're not getting out of work that easily. Especially not this close to the holidays! Who would open the store in the morning?" He shuddered. "Besides. No one's going to care about that. We'll have Harry come down to the store a few times this week and remind everyone who he really supports. No one's going to pay attention to this."

Draco noticed that Fred didn't say anything. 

That advert hadn't been the only one, and the back-to-school rush that usually gave the shop such a boost never came. The crowds were all at Lockhart's Laughs, forking over galleons by the bucketload. And one morning, Draco arrived at the Joke Shop to find magically shifting graffiti that proclaimed, “Deatheaters aren’t funny. Sack the Snake.”

***

So Draco couldn't complain when business picked up again around the holidays. In fact, as the knuts and sickles started to stack up, he’d been the one to suggest a Christmas Eve extravaganza. Music, pictures with Santa, homemade cookies and cocoa. 

“Brilliant idea, Malfoy,” Fred had said. “We’ll leave the details to you.”

And Draco could have bristled at that. When he’d first started at the joke shop, he would have. Back then he still thought this was a temporary stop on his journey to something greater. Draco Malfoy wasn’t the kind of person to end up trapped as a shopkeeper for the rest of his life. 

Now, as much of an irritation as the party planning was, he knew it was a sign the Fred and George trusted him to do it right. They would find out tomorrow if the trust was merited, but he didn’t have time to stop and worry about that. From the moment the shop opened, he had a thousand things to do. He straightened the garland and corralled the roving mistletoe into the corner. He fed the pygmy puffs and re-arranged the daydream collection, again. People never could seem to keep their hands to themselves when it came to those products. 

***

The shop was at full swing that day when the bell rang and Draco spied a head of black curls jammed under a red-and-gold stocking hat. He busied himself helping a little girl pick out just the right gift for her best friend. "I want something that will make her laugh every time she sees it," the girl said, and Draco showed her to the Chocolate Hogs, whose collectable cards were full of bizarre fabrications about famous witches and wizards throughout the ages.

When he stood up, he found himself face-to-face with Potter. 

He took a hurried step back under the guise of catching a whizzing woofer that had escaped from the child testing it. "Potter," he greeted. 

"Draco. Sorry, I know you're swamped right now. Have you got a minute?"

"Of course," Draco answered. "Wouldn't want to keep Saint Potter waiting." Just like he'd hoped, Potter smiled. At some point, Potter had decided to stop taking Draco's prickliness as a personal attack. It was a good thing, too, because Draco didn’t know how to stop being prickly. 

"I wanted to go over the details for the Christmas Eve entertainment. What time tomorrow should I have the kids here by?"

"Ten in the morning. If you can get all fifteen kids ready and out the door by that hour."

"I'll have you know that we're a well-oiled machine in that house, Draco Malfoy."

"Mm," Draco said. "Then you know that Jameson is over there climbing the shelves?"

Harry spun around in a panic to find one of his charges was, indeed, halfway up the shelves. Draco pressed a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud as Harry made an athletic bound over some kids on the floor and swerved around a little family to peel the boy off the wall. 

Draco took his time to navigate the crowds to join the two. Jameson had adopted a position of contrition and Harry was tugging at his curls. "I specifically asked you not to climb anything in the store! And you said I could trust you. Jameson, I don't even know if I can bring you to sing for the Christmas Eve event tomorrow. I've got to know that all of you are going to be on your best behavior even when I'm busy."

Jameson's eyes were trained on his boots. "Of course you can, Harry. I'll be good, I promise. It's just that I thought I saw wrackspurts hiding on the shelf, and I had to get a better look! There shouldn't be wrackspurts hiding in the joke shop."

Harry's curls were looking a mess now, but he forced his hands to his sides. "Jamie. Go play with the pygmy puffs, and please keep your feet on the ground."

As the boy made his way through the crowd, Harry shook his head. "These kids are going to be the death of me. That or Luna. I can't believe she's got them all looking for wrackspurts." 

But Draco couldn't mistake the fondness in Harry's voice as he spoke. When Harry had opened a home for children three years ago, Draco had specifically heard him tell Fred and George, "I've faced down Voldemort. A few kids should be a breeze after that." 

That had been back when Draco still wanted to hit the smug grin off of Harry's face. Back when Harry's frequent visits to the joke shop caused Draco to find work in the back room to minimize the awkwardness of the two of them being in the same place for any length of time. They weren't enemies. Not exactly. Draco had done enough in the final Battle of Hogwarts that Potter had officially spoken in Draco's defense at his trial. It was probably the only thing that kept Draco and his parents from living out their days in Azkaban. But they'd been a far cry from friends. 

"Potter," Draco said, "You can't complain about Luna. You wouldn't have survived this long without her help"

Harry smiled grimly. "True. I don't know what I'd do without her help. And yours." 

Draco found a box to adjust on the shelf. Potter was giving him that blinding smile now, and Draco had no defenses for that. "You'd get on just fine without me. I'm only over there an evening or two each week."

"An evening or two that keeps me sane," Harry said. "You're right that I wouldn't be able to do it without Luna, but don't sell yourself short."

***

When it had first opened, the papers had been full of stories about Harry's Home for Children. About how good and noble he was, to care for the orphans of the war, or squibs or, as he put it "Anyone who needs a family that will love them for just who they are." 

Draco had to suppress a gag whenever the front page of the paper was Saint Potter, cutting the ribbon for the house, or Saint Potter, marching his perfect little charges down the street to get ice-creams, or Saint Potter, picking up a crying four-year-old to comfort her. And he couldn't complain to his bosses. They enjoyed a ribbing at just about anyone, but Potter was their patron saint, too. 

And then Potter had blown into the joke shop at seven one morning, planted his hands on the front counter, and screamed, "I'm going to kill them all."

Draco had poked his head out of the back room and said, "Fred and George will be in at eight if you want to come back and whinge then."

"No. I'm whinging now," Harry had answered. And for the next hour straight, he had vented every anger, frustration, and irritation catalogued at the kids in his care, and Draco was in stitches. 

"And it's not even Alana's fault. But she. pukes. everywhere. I have taken her to healers four times to see if there's something wrong, and they said this is normal. How is this normal?" 

By the time Fred and George came in at half past eight, Potter was gesturing wildly with his teacup while he complained about how good Maya was at delaying bedtime, and Draco was marveling at the miracle that Potter wasn't even angry when Draco laughed. Instead, Potter had started laughing, too. 

"What's going on?" Fred asked, looking from Draco to Potter. "You two conducting secret meetings behind our backs?"

"If we were," Potter answered, "We wouldn't be doing it in your joke shop. Speaking of which, Malfoy. You really ought to come down and see all this for yourself some time."

"With an advertisement like this, how could I miss it?" Draco laughed. 

Of course, he'd never intended to show up at Potter's home. The stories of the kids were more than enough. But Potter was persistent, and Draco made the mistake of thinking if he went once, Potter would shut up about it. But somehow (Draco knew exactly how. It was because he'd read stories with the little whelps and done shadow puppets to get one of them to stop crying when it was time for bed.) one invite had turned into more, and now he was over there once or twice a week. 

One or two evenings a week that, apparently, kept Potter sane. And drove Draco insane. Not because of the kids, although they were a handful. No. The insanity came from Potter. From the fact that front-page spreads of him pushing his toddler charges in a pram didn't make Draco feel sick anymore. Or not the same sort of sick. Instead, they caused a painful shot of longing through his chest. Potter had always seemed so perfect--twirling through life winning things and rescuing people. But now he was real. He sagged against the doors when they'd got the last kid into bed and cursed when he stepped in something wet and unidentified in the kitchen.

It was that Harry that had started appearing on the packages of the Daydream Dummies and Five-minute Fancies whenever Draco stocked the shelves.

***

Draco cleared his head. "If you have them here at ten, we can make sure they're all in costume and ready by ten-thirty. We'll have them sing for an hour at a time with half-hour breaks, and you'll be standing next to Santa so the parents can get pictures with Santa and you."

Potter rubbed the back of his neck. "Are you sure about that? Isn't it a bit much to put me up there with Santa?"

Of course it was, but it was also the edge they had on Lockhart's Laughs. Both stores were hosting a meet and greet with Santa on Christmas Eve, but Weasley's also had Harry Potter. "You asked what you could do to help the shop out," Draco said. "And this is definitely it."

“If you insist. Anything for you, Draco.” He laughed at the stricken expression that crossed Draco’s face. “Anything for the joke shop, then.” 

***

Business had slowed by that evening at eight, and both of the Weasley's were perched on the front counter. Fred was tossing test candy at George's open mouth. 

When Draco had first come to work for them, he'd thought their childish antics would spell disaster for the store. But that wasn't it. They both worked hard. Yes, he had to come open the store in the morning, which was what came of being the only non-owner employee--but the two of them were often in the workroom until midnight brewing the next big thing. 

The bell over the door rang, and Draco glanced up to see several well-dressed goblins making their way inside.

He looked back to the twins. George snapped his mouth shut, and a candy bounced off his nose. Fred slid from the counter, adopting his easy smile. "What can I help you gentlepersons with? Looking for some stocking-stuffers for the little ones? Or have you got a security--"

"Weasley," the goblin at the fore of the group interrupted. "You can save your gab. The two of you are months behind on payments for the shop."

"Is that all?" George laughed, sliding from the table to stand next to Fred and sling an arm around him. "Thanks for paying us the visit, but no need to worry your handsome noggins about that one! We've been socking away our holiday money all month, and tomorrow when we're done with the Christmas Eve event, I promise you you'll have your payment."

His voice sounded so confident. But then, Draco knew now, the Weasley twins always sounded confident, and then they worked instead of sleeping. 

But they should be confident about this, because they had been making good sales all month, and were keeping them in a well-jinxed safe, and tomorrow they would be able to make at least a really sizable payment, if not every penny they owed.

"Why don't you just pay us everything you have now," one of the goblins suggested, "And then you won't be months behind."

"First off," Fred said, "Because the bank is closed for the evening, and if you don't mind, gentlefriends, we're not just going to hand over our hard earned galleons to you without a receipt. And second, where is the story, the triumph? The glory? We'll be along to you tomorrow when we've got every penny you're owed."

Most of the goblins turned to shuffle back out the door, but the head goblin took a moment to look Draco over, his lip curling. "You'd already be able to pay the difference if you'd do the smart thing and take out the trash. You bring the galleons to the bank tomorrow when you close, or the shop will be ours before the new year. Lockhart's offering us the whole cost up front so he can open a bookstore." With that, the goblin lurched out.

Draco opened his mouth, then shut it again, and Fred cuffed him on the shoulder. "Stop it, Draco. We'll have nothing to worry about after tomorrow."

***

Draco pulled his coat around him as he walked back into the bitingly cold night. It was easy for the Weasleys to tell him not to worry. It was hard for him to listen. It might have been easier if he thought the goblins were the only ones who felt like getting rid of him would be taking out the trash.

It would also be nice if he had saved some of his floo powder for the coldest days of the year instead of squandering it in October when it had been raining but otherwise passable. Fred and George hollered at him every time he walked home, saying there was a tub of floo powder by the fireplace. But it was the businesses powder, and it was expensive. They lived farther and needed to use it more than he did. It felt like a small way to make up for all the money that he cost them.

He turned from the main street of Diagon Alley and into the more residential neighborhood behind it. It was mostly shopkeepers and their families living in this particular neighborhood, but when Andromeda had wanted to downsize from her country house, Draco had found this place, and the three of them--Andromeda, Teddy, and Draco, had been living there since. 

He saw the candles in the windows first, and then a face pressed against the window. It wasn't a face he recognized, exactly, but he waved anyway. The eyes were familiar, and it belonged to a kid about five years old, which meant that this person who seemed to have long brown hair in a braid over their shoulder, a tiny button nose, and more freckles that Draco had ever seen naturally occurring on a human being's face was probably Teddy. 

The little person waved back, then raced to the door to open it for Draco. "Welcome home! Gran was going to make me go to bed before you even got home and I said that's not fair because you promised me a story tonight." 

"Freckles are in today, hmm?" Draco asked. 

"Ye-es. They're like face sparkles. I don't understand why anyone doesn't want freckles."

Draco considered, again, the usefulness of trying to explain to Teddy that most people couldn't change the way Teddy could. 

"They're beautiful," Draco said. 

Andromeda looked up from where she was taping up a last package for under the Christmas tree. "Draco. Don't keep Teddy up late. She's going to want to stay up late tomorrow. Read her a story in bed."

So Draco gave Teddy a piggy-back ride to bed and read one (and then one more, and then just one more) picture book to Teddy. 

***

"Draco!" 

His head jerked up, and he blinked around Teddy’s bedroom through swollen eyes. Andromeda was standing in the dim light of the hallway, frowning at him. 

"You fell asleep reading to Teddy. Come get some supper."

Moving in with Andromeda had been as uncomfortable as anything else in the year right after the war. His mother had gone about the matchmaking, writing to Andromeda about how important it was for Draco to align himself with the right sort of witches and wizards at this crucial time. In other words, she and Lucius were on house arrest, but she didn't want Draco getting lumped into that. And, she reasoned, Andromeda would need help with little Teddy. 

Andromeda cut a thick slice of meat pie and poured a cup of tea for Draco. "You eat all of that," she said. "You've been working too hard."

Draco stabbed the pie with his fork.

Andromeda had started cold. At first she’d wanted to do everything for Teddy herself and keep Draco at arm’s length. But Draco didn’t have to wear her down--the two year old did that. Eventually she had to start letting Draco feed Teddy and convince Teddy to put on clothes. She still wasn't exactly a burbling font of affection. But she made sure that Draco had something to eat and that he got nearly enough sleep, and that wasn't nothing. 

***

Potter's crew of children marched up to the joke shop only fifteen minutes after ten the next morning. Draco thought that was decent, all things considered, but Potter was looking ragged for it. Luna was with them, to keep the kids in line while Potter was available for photos. As great as Luna was with the kids, keeping them in line wasn't one of her strong suits. 

"Luna, can you get the under-eights dressed in these?"

"What are these supposed to be?" she frowned at the green frocks. 

"Festive?" Draco suggested. 

"These are just going to attract wrackspurts," she said. "And these kids already have enough trouble with wrackspurts. Don't you have anything blue? We could balance it out with blue."

"Do whatever you like," Draco answered, hoping that whatever color the frocks ended up, they'd be on the kids in fifteen minutes. 

Luna was the best at remembering to think about the children's emotional health, even if it was usually couched in language about mythical fantastic beasts. The kids that came to stay with Harry all had slightly different stories. Some of them were orphans of the war--from either side--not lucky enough to have grans and cousins and godfathers to look after them. Some of their parents, like Jamie's and Holly's, were non-magical and disagreed with the fact that their kids were wizards. Some of them, like Zoe, had parents who were convinced they'd had a son and didn’t appreciate it when Zoe explained she was their daughter. And then there were kids like Thom, whose family didn't actually have anything to disagree with him about, since they seemed to function by pretending that he'd never existed. Potter had officially scheduled appointments for the kids with mind healers on a regular basis, but Luna was the best at reminding them to think about it in the in-between times.

By half past ten, all of the kids were in a line just outside the door of the shop, and Draco handed each of them a bouquet. "I'm nervous," Holly whispered.

Draco waved away her concern. “You don't have to sound good, you just have to sound heartfelt.”

He stepped back to look at all of them just as an obnoxious voice called out behind him, "Look at that little Weasley shack. Trying to get people to pity them by parading orphans around. Just the kind of thing they would try. It really is a shame. Those boys could have amounted to something if they didn’t insist on associating with garbage.”

Draco turned around to watch Lockhart pass. He was dressed in red and gold, and surrounded by laughing lackeys.

"Who is that?" Maya whispered. "Is that a king?"

Draco looked back at the kids. Some of the younger ones hadn't understood what Lockhart was saying, but Jamie looked ready to run after Lockhart and fight. Zoe was clenching the head of her bouquet in two fists.

"They're talking about me," he said. "Not you."

Jamie looked up at him. "I know," he snapped. "That's the problem."

Zoe looked down at her hands and gasped. "Look what I've done! Mister Draco!"

He took the flowers and the petals from her. "What do you want me to do, reattach them?"

She started to laugh, "Just hide the evidence. No one's going to want to listen to us sing if they think I'm a flower murderer."

Draco tucked the petals into his pocket. "There. Now your bouquet only looks slightly mangled. Now one will suspect you of crimes against flowers."

Hermione and Ron passed by in their Auror robes and called out greetings to the children. Draco lifted a hand in greeting, then turned back to the kids. "I've got to go hide in the store so I don't scare away all the customers that you little goblins draw in."

Throughout the rest of the morning and afternoon, Draco heard snatches of the children's songs through the open shop door. Keeping the kids busy with singing practice was one of the ways Harry stayed sane, and they'd sung at ministry events or fundraiser dinners before. This wasn't new for them. All the same, Draco wished he could have spent more time out there, making sure that Holly was alright and that Jamie wasn't trying to scale the building, and less time trying to return lost five-year-olds to their frazzled parents. 

From inside the shop, though, he did have a good view of Harry, shaking hands and striking poses, lifting up little kids to reach the shining baubles on the Christmas tree. Draco tried not to look over too often. He had other things to think about. It was undoubtedly their busiest day of the year. He still got a few looks of disgust or hard elbows from customers, but that didn't stop their money from changing hands. It was impossible to stop for long enough to get a sense of their daily total, but Draco had a feeling that the goblins just might be satisfied with what they had to offer. 

***

Finally, the kids had been bundled home for a Christmas Eve of sipping cocoa and opening gifts donated by customers of the shop. Harry had waved his goodbyes as he was swept out the door in a crowd of admirers. The final customers had been satisfied, and Fred was counting down the seconds until nine, when they were officially closed for the night. 

"Five, four, three, two, one! That's it!" Fred shouted, flipping the sign on the door to "CLOSED to YOU, NUMPTIES" and jiggling the lock into place.

George had been absorbed in counting the till, and he looked up to Draco and Harry with his wild-light eyes. "We've got the galleons we owe, and get this." He lifted up a knut and a sickle. "Some left over!"

"Look at them!" Fred hooted. "Mama Knut and Papa Sickle. And if you want this old Joke Shop to last another year, the two of you better get busy real quick."

"Put them in the safe," George instructed Draco. "With some mood music. And a duplication charm, if you can swing it." 

Draco rolled his eyes and tossed the change into the safe.

"Well," George dusted himself off. "Draco, since you like walking in the snow so much, why don't you run this over to the bank and tell them it's from trash with love. Or something cleverer. I bet you can think of something cleverer on the way over there," he grinned. "And then you'll meet us at Harry’s place, won't you? The whole family's going to be there, and you can bring Teddy. You and Harry hardly said two words to each other today, I bet he'd love to have you there." 

Draco looked sharply at George. Was that an innocent suggestion, or had George noticed something? "Isn't the bank closed?"

"Will you believe, the goblins said they'd keep a skeleton crew there late tonight just for our deposit. I think they've gotten fond of us!" 

Draco rolled his eyes. “They’ve always seemed very fond of me.”

"Hope they don't mean a crew of skeletons," Fred mused. "Sounds right scary, that does."

"I'll deposit the money," Draco promised. "But I'm not sure that Andromeda will let me take Teddy." 

Fred leaned over the counter to drop a sack of gold on Draco, and George heaved another at him. Draco staggered under the weight before he cast a weightlessness charm on both bags. "Just how much money did you owe the bank?" 

"Enough to merit a skeleton crew," Fred said. "If it's real skeletons, please take notes. We should get one of those for the shop."

Draco didn't have extra hands to button up his coat, but George unlocked and opened the door for him, and he trudged into the night. 

It was snowing even harder than the night before, but without the wind, the enormous flakes drifted down gracefully, catching the light of the nearby shops and filling the air. Draco took in the scene, shifted the bags of gold in his hands, and felt the corners of his lips pulling back into a smile. 

He smiled often enough when he was around Fred and George, trying to prove that he did have a sense of humor. The kids, whether it was Teddy or Zoe or Jamie, always made him laugh. And Potter, of course. He smiled for Potter.

Those smiles were usually for the other person's benefit. Or because someone else made it possible to smile. All on his own, Draco didn't smile much. But Christmas Eve, and the candles in the windows, the enormous flakes of snow drifting down, and two enormous bags of gold in his arms--Draco could smile for this. 

He stepped forward, only to freeze again. Something was wrong--there was a sound, interrupting the peace of the night, and a flash of something red-and-gold, and then the swirling of the snow was the only thing he could see.

***

The next thing Draco knew, he was standing just inside the door of Gringotts, holding a deposit slip. 

The Goblin left behind the desk (no skeletons in sight. Fred would be so disappointed) looked Draco over. 

"Have you got some kind of extendible charm on your pockets?" he frowned. 

Draco blinked. His head felt fuzzy. He'd been walking over here--walking over here to make a deposit. A deposit for the joke shop. There was gold--somewhere. He squeezed his eyes closed, then opened them again. 

"I don't feel well," he managed. 

"And I feel like going home," the goblin snapped. "Have you got the gold, or have the Weasleys sent their pet Death Eater to beg for mercy? You must be good at it, if you've survived this long."

Draco blinked up at them. "I have the gold. Two big bags of it." That was right, wasn't it? He looked down at his arms, then all around his person, confused. Had he forgotten something? Yes, definitely that. He'd forgotten everything since they'd dropped the bags of gold on him. They'd been so heavy. Maybe he'd--"Maybe I dropped it?" he said. His voice sounded thin, even to his own ears.

"Do you have the money, or don't you?" the goblin snapped. "Because either the Weasley boys are lying to us, and we'll be selling that shop before the year's out, or you've just stolen nearly a thousand galleons from your employers, in which case, maybe I should call the Aurors on you."

Draco's mouth dropped open. He hadn't stolen anything, but--they'd definitely given him the money, and now it wasn't here. The goblin's hand was already in the floo powder. He'd floo the Auror's office, and they'd have someone here for him in seconds. 

No. Draco had to go find that gold. 

He turned on his heal and sprinted out of the bank. Or he attempted a sprint and managed to wobble out, still dizzy and disoriented. 

The front steps were slippery, and he sat down abruptly in the snow. Cold shocked his hands and back, and it seemed to be exactly what he'd needed to snap back into full consciousness. The dizziness and confusion disappeared, and he was left with reality: He’d lost everything the Weasley's had worked for. 

He stood up, steadier now, but also filled with dread. His eyes scanned the road. There were no convenient bags topped to the brim with gold sitting on the steps with him. But he could still see his footprints in the snow. He’d trace those, and maybe he’d find something. Some clue as to where he’d left the gold or how he’d lost the last few minutes.

With every step he took, Draco felt panic pounding in his heart. The Aurors might already be on his tail. 

Here--his footsteps were disturbed here, sliding and scuffing, and it looked like someone else had passed this way, too.

"Well, well, well," a voice called. 

Draco spun around. Lockhart was standing there with snow collecting on his hat. "If it isn't the littlest Death Eater. You don't look like you're having a very good Christmas Eve, Mr. Malfoy. What seems to be the problem?"

The memory of earlier that day, when Lockhart had spoken like he did in front of the kids from the home, filled Draco's mind. It was one thing to write about him in the paper. It was one thing to scare away their customers. But those kids--Draco knew he couldn’t stop them from ever hearing about who he really was, but he didn’t want them thinking about him that way.

And he definitely didn't want them hearing about him getting arrested for stealing hundreds of galleons from the Weasleys. 

"Mr. Lockhart," he started. "You haven't seen any money around here, have you?" 

"Money?" Lockhart's eyebrows drew up in surprise. "No, I don't usually run into large amounts of money on the street. Why do you ask? Have you misplaced a few sickles?"

Draco clenched his teeth. "I was going to the bank to make a late deposit," he forced himself to explain. "For the Weasleys. I got there, and I can't find the money."

Lockhart laughed his smarmy chuckle. "Well that's a bit convenient, isn't it? The store owners give the underpaid shopboy more than he'll see in a year of salaries, and suddenly it disappears. You really think anyone will buy that story?"

Draco thought of the way Fred watched him from the corner of his eyes, and his heart sank. He knew the Aurors would never believe him, but he couldn’t even expect the Weasleys to be on his side. He couldn't even remember what had happened, himself. 

"You've got to help me, Mr. Lockhart. I don't care what happens to me. I'll quit working there, if that's what you want. You'll never see me on Diagon Alley again. But the kids worked so hard for this." The kids, and the Weasleys, and Potter. None of them deserved to be punished because Draco couldn’t walk down a street properly.

Lockhart chuckled again. "That's the interesting thing, isn't it? What's really _fascinating_ is how they let a criminal like you get so involved with things. Not just the joke shop, either. I don't expect people have ever given much thought to how Potter is always letting a convicted criminal come around his group home."

No no. Not this. Draco had thought this moment couldn't get worse, but his heart sank even lower. His breath puffed visibly in the air in small, tight gasps. “Mr. Lockhart.”

"Sometimes you just have to remind people to direct their attention to the important things," Lockhart said, tilting his head and shooting Draco a confidential smile. "I think I can help you there. As a citizen of this community, I think it's my job to point out the disgraceful way that Harry Potter is running his little children's shelter. The joke shop will put itself out of its misery before the first of the year. It's amazing how little work I had to do to put them out of business. You did that all by yourself. I just had to point it out. Harry's darling home will be right behind. You'd be more help just by staying out of it." 

Draco felt his words like a blow to the gut. He'd known that. He'd known that when he first started at the Weasley's shop, that it was better if he stayed out of things. He'd known that when he started living with Teddy and Andromeda. And he'd for certain known it when he started visiting the home. How had he been so stupid as to forget?

"I suppose you better run along and tell all your friends the news," Lockhart offered, still smiling so wide that his face looked ready to crack in half. "And wish them a Happy Christmas for me, won't you?"

***

Draco couldn't. He couldn't go to the home and face Fred and George. They were finally celebrating the fruit of all their hard work, and couldn't watch their smiles go brittle and fall from their faces. He couldn't tell Potter what Lockhart had promised and kill the lights in Potter’s eyes. He couldn't see the kids gathering around, realizing that something was wrong, realizing that it had to do with the home but that all of the adults were going to try to keep it from them. 

And he couldn't go home to Andromeda. Or Teddy. He didn't want the Aurors to come shouting in, waving their wands and shooting spells at him while Teddy cowered and cried. He would at least keep that unspoken promise to Andromeda. He wouldn't bring the trouble home, to Teddy. 

So he walked, first away from Diagon Alley and out into muggle London. If he was going to avoid the Aurors, even for a while, it would have to be out here. And the less magic he used, the better. Not that he could evade them for long. He was just playing for minutes now, hoping that the rest of them would at least be able to enjoy their Christmas Eves before they found out the hell he'd created for them all. 

He wasn't thinking of going anywhere in particular. Panicked thoughts kept crowding out any sense of plan or direction, but when he became aware of his surroundings, his feet had led the way into the middle of a bridge. Not one of the larger, fancier bridges of the city, which were undoubtedly crowded with tourists and couples proposing.

No, he thought, as he leaned over the rails of the bridge to stare into the water. This had to be one of the minor bridges of London. But if he jumped from here--if he jumped into water that cold, wearing his boots and peacoat--if he just let himself be carried away, there wouldn’t be any Death Eater connected to the joke shop. There’d be no Death Eater frequenting Harry’s home. There’d still be no gold, but he couldn’t fix that. This was all he could do.

He was startled from his thoughts by a splash in the water, and he leaned over even farther to try to see through the flying snow and swirling water. A head broke the surface, and he heard the shouting over the sounds of the water. "Help!" a voice was shouting. "Someone help!" 

Draco looked around in both directions. There were muggles passing by on the bridge, and none of them seemed to realize there was someone drowning in the water right below them. Well, if there was no one here to play hero, he would have to do. He shrugged out of his coat, toed off his boots, and clumsily swung both legs over the rail. 

Where was Harry Potter when you needed him? Draco was not built for jumping into freezing water to save foolish muggles, but he couldn’t just stand here and watch someone drown.

"Hel--!" The voice was cut off when the head in the water caught a wave to the face. Nothing for it. Draco squeezed his eyes shut and pushed away from the bridge. 

The water was such a shock of cold that he almost forgot what he'd jumped in to do. His arms and legs felt locked down to his side, but his hand brushed against something soft and stringy. Hair. He forced his eyes open and caught sight of the girl who'd fallen into the river. Her face was pale and looked nearly green in the strange underwater light, and her hair was waving out from her head along with the current. A thin stream of bubbles escaped her nose. 

Draco forced his cold and heavy limbs to move and threaded one arm around her waist.

She seemed to know he was trying to help, because she didn't fight him off, and soon both of them broke the surface, where she gasped and spluttered. The river had carried them some distance from the bridge, and it was just going to go on carrying them through London unless they got out. Draco nodded toward the shore, the girl nodded grimly, and the two of them thrashed their way out of the current. 

Draco nudged her against the muddy bank of the river and let himself collapse. Who knew what kind of filth he was marinating in, but standing up seemed a bit much to ask at the moment. 

"Draco?" The girl said. "You've got to get up. You can't freeze now." 

She was yanking on his arm, but her motions didn't have as much effect on Draco as her words. His head jerked up. "How do you know my name?"

She blinked. "Oh. I know all about you, Mister Draco Malfoy. If you don’t mind, could you get out your wand and get us dried up and warm? It would be a pity for you to die of hypothermia after I jumped in to save you." 

"To save me?" Draco frowned, realizing his wand was still in the pocket of his coat, up on the bridge. It was going to be a long slog up there, but the girl was right--it wasn't going to get any easier as they got colder. He managed to kneel. "I jumped in to save you."

"Of course you did," she said. She sounded quite pleased, even though her teeth were chattering. Draco started up the steep bank. "But only because I knew that if I fell in the water, you would jump in to save me instead of hurting yourself."

Draco stood and took a few steps up the bank, but nearly lost his balance and had to grab onto a rather thorny plant to keep from falling back. "And you didn't think to come up and talk to me? We'd be a lot drier." 

The girl, who had somehow gotten ahead of him and was standing at the edge of the road, called down, "I don't always make the smartest choice in a pinch. But I do always take action."

Draco knew he had to get to his coat, and wand, and make sure the girl actually got warm. But he took a moment to rub his forehead. This had already been the worst night of his life, and now he'd been interrupted by a _Gryffindor_. 

***

Once he'd cast spells over both of them to dry their clothes and warm them up, he took in the girl's appearance. "You look like you're dressed for a party. Do you have somewhere you're supposed to be?"

"Oh this?" the girl looked down at her white dress. "This is just what I was buried in. I didn't have time to pick out anything more appropriate for the occasion."

Draco gave the girl a second look. Her dress looked clean and new, and her shoes were expensive. If she was lost, or a runaway, it had happened recently. Some poor non-magic family was probably searching frantically for the girl. He cleared his throat. "Is there--what's your name? We should get you back to your family."

A shadow passed over the girl's bright face. "My name is Claire Hanahan. A.S.2. And don't worry about my family. They're not looking for me."

"A.S.2?" Draco repeated. Maybe it was a hospital ward, or an address where she could get help. 

"Angel, second class," she smiled. 

Draco clutched his wand. O-kay. This might need a delicate touch. She looked like she was fifteen or sixteen year old, but maybe she was a witch who'd magic had gone unnoticed and undeveloped, and that could make her dangerous. "So you're an angel, Claire? Do you have--special powers?"

She gave him a withering glare. "First of all, this is not about me. It's about you. Remember, I came here to rescue you. Second of all, I'm not a witch, Draco. And I wasn't a witch when I was alive, either. I'm an angel."

Draco had plenty of chances to get used to being talked down to by children lately, but it still got his hackles up. "Okay, Miss Claire Hanahan, Angel Second Class, who came to rescue me. We've both had a nice dip in the water. Any other big plans to help me out?"

He started walking across the bridge, because if he didn’t do _something,_ he was only going to get sharper with her.

She dogged his steps. "Well, you're not going to hurt yourself now, are you?"

"Not until I make sure you're somewhere safe," he muttered. "Although if we happen to encounter any fatal accidents on the way, I wouldn't complain."

Her white-blonde eyebrows rose in dismay. "Oh no. You musn't talk like that."

He stomped through the fresh snow. "Claire. I know you think you're helping, but you're not. You have no idea what a mess I've gotten everyone in. All my friends. My family. I've destroyed everything they've worked for."

"And you think it would make any of it better if you died tonight?" she said. Her voice was softer now, less over-bright and aggressive, and it hit all the harder. 

Draco clenched his fists in his coat pockets. "I don't know," he muttered. "The kids have lost enough. Especially Teddy. I don't want that for any of them. It would be better--I just wish I'd never been born."

The girl's face crumpled, and she dashed to stand in front of him, planting her fancy dress shoes in the snow. "You can't say things like that, Draco. How am I supposed to help you when--" in the middle of scolding them, she stopped short and clapped a hand over her mouth. "That's it!" Squinting her eyes shut, she whispered. "Do you think we could--well I know that. There's always a risk that. Yes, of course. Oh, thank you, thank you!" 

Her eyes flew open, and she grinned at Draco. 

"There. Draco Malfoy, you have never existed."

The snow stopped so suddenly that Draco shivered. He hadn't even noticed that it was slowing down, and suddenly the sky was empty. The last flakes settled on the girls' white-blonde hair. 

"Okay. Um. Thanks for the wish, I suppose. I think we should focus on getting you safely home."

She shook the snow off her head. "I don't know if you're hearing me. I don't have a home around here. I live in heaven. I'm an angel."

Draco searched his memory for some kind of fantastic beast that controlled the weather and might think itself an angel. He was coming up empty. He was also running out of strategies for dealing with cracked teenage girls. "Luna!" he exclaimed suddenly. 

"Hmm?" the girl said. "That was one of your schoolmates, right? The girl who works with Harry at the children's home?"

Was this girl some accomplished legilimens? Never mind. "That's her. We'll take you to Luna and Harry. They'll know what to do with you."

***

The first trouble was at the Leaky Cauldron. Draco knew better than to expect a knowing nod from the bartender. The patrons of the Leaky tolerated Draco, but they didn't like him hanging around. He hadn't expected Tom the bartender to hold up a hand when he headed for the backdoor. 

"’Scuse me. Just where do you think you're headed?"

Maybe they already knew about the missing money. Maybe the Aurors had already been here, looking for him. 

"I've just got to get this girl to Harry Potter, and then I'll..." he trailed off. What would he do when he got Claire the help she needed. "I'll face the consequences of my actions."

The bartender's face crinkled with confusion. "Potter? Are you one of our kind?"

"Of course I am." Most of the time Draco would be glad not to be recognized everywhere he went as a former Death Eater, but at this point he just wanted to get to Harry and end this terrible day. "Draco Malfoy. Don't you recognize me?" He felt his pocket for his wand, but couldn't find it at the moment. No matter, he had identification that always worked. He raised the sleeve on his left arm, fully prepared for everyone who was crowding around in the Leaky to gasp and recoil. 

But he was the only one reacting with shock. The skin on his left forearm was clean and bare. 

"It's not there." Claire whispered. 

"What?" 

"The dark mark. You were never born, so you were never marked by Voldemort. No dark mark, no wand."

Draco shoved his hands into his pant's pockets, feeling for his identification, or his pay stub from the Weasleys, or--

"They're not there either."

"What?"

"Zoe's petals. They're not there."

Draco looked up at the bartender. "Look, she's lost her marbles, and I'm beginning to think I'm losing mine too. We've got to see Harry Potter. He'll vouch for me. Can you just let us through?"

Tom chuckled. "Sure. I bet Harry Potter's been waiting all evening for you."

Another patron of the Leaky laughed. "You think his wife is waiting too?"

It hit like a brick to the gut. Draco found Claire and himself shoved into the back alley, and all he could manage to say was, "His wife?"

Draco stared at the brick wall. "I can't get us in," he admitted. "Not without my wand."

"That's okay." Claire pressed her finger to one of the bricks at random. It wasn't even one of the bricks that was supposed to trigger the magic. "I can get us in."

Draco opened his mouth to explain to her why that wouldn't help, but then the bricks disassembled themselves and moved aside. "That's convenient." And odd. It was definitely one point in favor of her being a witch who didn't know about it. 

"I'm not a witch, Draco," she said. "Your kind aren’t the only ones with power. Now, you wanted me to meet Harry Potter?"

Harry's home for kids should be just down the block, and he'd certainly be able to fix this. "You'll like Harry," he said. "Everyone does."

"Including you?"

"Yes. Most definitely. But don't go telling people about that, understand?"

Claire nodded solemnly. "Don't tell Harry you like him. I don't think he'd listen to me if I did. If he hasn't figured it out from how you behave, he's not going to listen to a child."

"How I behave?" Draco said. His voice squeaked a little, which was stupid. Claire was an unstable kid, she didn't know anything about how Draco acted around Harry Potter. "Never mind. Here, this is the place."

He knocked on the door. He'd been there only a couple of days before, and the house had been decorated for Christmas--there'd been a wreath on the door, and paper ornaments cut out by the children taped to the windows. And all of that was gone. Worse, there was no light coming from the windows.

He swallowed. Maybe this was some Christmas tradition he knew nothing about, or they'd decided to put the kids to bed early and have a very quiet, very dark celebration. He knocked sharply. 

"Draco," Claire offered helpfully, "You know that no one lives here, right?"

"Harry Potter lives here, and Luna lives here almost all the time, and fifteen kids right now. Jamie and Holly and Alana and Zoe and Maya--"

Claire interrupted by pointing upward. "It says magical exterminators on the sign."

Draco looked up. It did. And now, peering through the windows, he could see the traps and poisons on the shelves. The disorientation he’d felt earlier flooded back, and he leaned heavily on the doorframe to keep his footing. "Where’s Potter?"

"Is that an actual question? Claire asked, "Or are you just talking to yourself?"

"You actually know where he lives?"

She tilted her head to the left. "Two blocks that way. Follow me."

He still felt a sick gnawing in his gut, but at least she was saying that Potter was nearby. Whatever was going on, Potter would set it right. 

"Are you feeling well?" Claire asked, leaning close to study his face.

"I think I may have hit my head or gotten a bad potion today.”

“You haven’t,” she said. “I saw the whole thing.”

“Then do you know where all the Galleons I’ve misplaced are?”

“No,” she answered, her lips pressed into a pout, “Not anymore, so that’s not much good to you, I’m afraid. This is where Harry lives. Are we going to talk to him?"

Draco eyed the house. It wasn't what he'd come to think of as Potter's style. For one thing, it was the biggest house on the block, and it looked like he had a team of people for the upkeep. At least this place had light coming from the windows and a wreath on the door. Potter couldn’t be here, but he didn’t have another idea. He knocked.

The door opened a fraction, and a house-elf stood in the doorway. "Who is interrupting my Master's celebrations at this hour?" 

"Can you just tell Potter that Draco Malfoy is here? I've got a kid in trouble, and I need to talk to him."

When the house elf stepped back to find Potter, Draco pushed his way into the house and down the hall. Harry wouldn't mind, not if it was about a kid in crisis. 

The house elf stopped short of the dining room. "Stay here," he snapped. "Do not be invading Master Potter's space."

"Potter," Draco said, waving the house elf aside. "What's going on?"

Harry set down his fork, and Draco felt another punch to the gut as he took in the scene. Harry was sitting across the table from a very pregnant Ginny Weasley. They both looked charming and shocked in the candlelight.

"Uh," Draco mumbled. "Sorry to interrupt, but Claire--this girl with me thinks she's an angel, and she says she's got no family to find. But she was able to get into Diagon Alley without a wand."

Harry stood up, and Ginny scooted her chair around so she could study both of them. "That's really interesting, random person. And really, no offense met, but, why are you in our house?"

Draco looked to Potter for some backup, but Potter was looking at Draco with the same blank expression. "Do you want money, or something?"

"Potter?’ Draco swallowed. “You know me. Draco Malfoy? We met in Madame Malkin's when we were eleven and always got into rows at school--”

Harry’s forehead creased. “We went to school together? I’m sorry, I don’t remember. It’s possible I’ve blocked something out.” 

Draco steeled himself. It didn’t matter if Harry remembered him, even if Draco felt like he was bleeding from that wound. “Never mind. Forget that. You've been running the home for kids with Luna for years, and I thought that if anyone could help, you could."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You must have been out of the loop for a while, stranger. That home was open for about four months before we disbanded. I'm the last person you should be asking for help with kids." 

"What? What about Jamie, and Alana the puker, and Zoe?"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "Look. I wish you and your sick friend good luck. But I have no desire to relive any of that, and I'm trying to enjoy Christmas Eve with my wife. It's time for you to leave."

Ginny walked them to the door and gave them both a cookie. "He hates being reminded about the home," she sighed. "But good luck. You might want to take her to St. Mungo's?"

And then, with signature Ginny firmness, she closed them both outside. 

Draco clutched the cookie Ginny hand given them as a consolation prize and gave Claire another, more careful look. "Claire, what's going on? Why is Harry saying that he's married to Ginny, and where are the kids?"

Claire hopped down the steps and took a nibble of her cookie. "We should get walking, I think. And I told you, Draco. Just like you wished, you've never been born. Without you, Harry wouldn't have kept the home going past the first few months. Hasn't he ever told you how much you helped him?"

"Sure," Draco said, "He says things like that. He exaggerates things."

She shrugged. "Apparently not."

Draco frowned. "But the kids are okay, aren't they? Wherever they are?"

Claire took another bite of her cookie and chewed like she was stalling for time. "I don't know what to tell you. It wasn't easy for them. I can’t say they’re all okay."

Draco handed his cookie to Claire and started shuffling through the snow. "Maybe the Weasley girl is right, and we should take you to the hospital. Maybe I should check myself in, too. Might get a reprieve from Azkaban."

"She's not the Weasley girl anymore," Claire reminded helpfully. Draco’s gut twisted again. “The children’s home doesn’t exist because you weren’t there to help him make it through the first year. He got married to Ginny instead. The Holyhead Harpies haven’t had a winning season since.”

“But he’s married to Ginny,” Draco managed. He’d given up his hold on reality. If Claire was mad, he was too, and in this reality, Harry was married and a father. “She’s pregnant. They’re happy.” 

Claire shrugged. “She makes really terrible cookies.”

***

Draco knew he should head straight for the hospital, but he found his steps leading towards the joke shop. He didn’t want to turn himself in to strangers, either for the crimes or the confusion. He just wanted someone to recognize him, and set him straight. Fred and George probably wouldn't be there any longer, but if they were, maybe they could help him sort out what had happened with Harry. 

He stopped on the street abruptly and turned around. He must have been so lost in his thoughts that he walked right past the shop. There was Magical Me and Other Books, and Lockhart's Laughs, and Lockhart’s Ice Cream, which was mercifully not called Lockhart’s Licks.

"The joke shop is gone too," Claire whispered. 

Malfoy swallowed. He'd known that was coming. "They lost out to Lockhart."

"George lost out to Lockhart," Claire corrected gently. "But I think it was a relief to him. It was really hard for him to run the joke shop when Fred was gone."

"When Fred..."

Claire tugged on his arm. "Here, Draco. Let's take a detour."

Draco followed her, and she turned sharply. “Oh,” he said, memory rising in him like a wave of nausea. “This used to be Nocturn Alley.”

“They repurposed it after the war,” she said.There had never been a cemetery anywhere near Diagon Alley. But they were walking between gravestones now, and Claire scuffed her dress shoes by a single stone in a double plot. 

Draco read the stone, blinked, and read it again.

Fred Weasley. 

He knew what it must say. He knew what most of the gravestones in this cemetery would likely say. But his hand reached out anyway. It moved almost on its own, like an arm that belonged to someone else. He dusted away the snow from the bottom of the stone.

Fred Weasley

April 1, 1979 - May 2, 1998

Mischief

"The Battle of Hogwarts," he whispered. 

"Of course. You fought by their side that day after Harry rescued you from the Room of Hidden Things. They still won the battle without you," she offered. "We're not living in Voldemort's world. But Fred didn't make it."

"No," Draco whispered. His knees shook, then gave, and he dropped into the snow. "No. no. Fred's not dead. I just saw him at the shop."

"The joke shop that hasn't existed for years?" Claire whispered. 

"No," he said again, his voice cracking. “Fred's fine. He's fine." 

"Are you okay, Draco?" Claire asked. "You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," he snapped. "I just need to--this is all wrong. I'm going to find my family. I'm going to find my family and go to sleep, and when I wake up tomorrow everything's going to be okay."

“Draco?”

He scrambled to his feet. Claire was behind him, calling his name, but he ran. 

He didn't have time for wandering anymore, or worrying about taking Claire to the hospital. He had to know that Andromeda and Teddy were alive and safe. He ran through the streets, his footsteps skidding and slipping every time he changed directions. There--even from the end of the block, he could see a candle in the window. The rest of the world could be upside down, but Teddy would be alright. He collided with the door, knocking urgently. 

"What the hell are you doing?" the door swung open, and he was faced with some version of Andromeda, one with deeper lines in her face and a bite to her voice. "I just got that little stinker asleep, and you want to come around banging on the door?"

"Teddy," Draco breathed. "Teddy's okay."

Andromeda looked more sharply at Draco's face. "Lucius? You can't be--you're supposed to be in Azkaban."

"No. Aunt Andromeda, it's me. Draco. Lucius's son." 

She wrinkled her nose, disgusted. "Lucius never reproduced, thank Merlin. He's a disgusting criminal, and anyone claiming to be related to him has no place in my house."

"Fine, I’ll go," Draco rushed. "I just have to know if you and Teddy are okay."

"I don't like you asking questions about my grandson," Andromeda snarled. "Some death-eater wannabe trying to get information on anyone from the Order who survived? I'm calling the Aurors."

Draco backed out of the door, heart pounding, but before Andromeda could slam it on him, he caught sight of a little boy standing behind her, and his stomach clenched. He'd never seen Teddy like this. Normally that wasn't a problem, because Teddy was never the same kid two days in a row, but this Teddy looked washed out. His hair wasn't brown or blonde, it was something halfway between. His skin looked too pale. No face sparkles. 

"You get away from us, And don't show your face around here again," Andromeda shouted, slamming the door. 

Claire took his hand and pulled him back a step. "Draco."

"What's wrong with them?" he breathed. "What's wrong with Teddy?"

Claire held his hand as he stood frozen in the street. "I know you think all the color in the house comes from Teddy, but without you, that's what the two of them have. You see, Draco Malfoy, you really have a wonderful life."

"Stop," Draco said, rubbing his forehead. "It's not wonderful. It's barely passable."

"Okay," Claire said. "But it's less passable without you here."

The door cracked open, and Draco's heart lifted just a little. Maybe Andromeda would call him in. Maybe they could talk about this. 

"I told you to get away from here," she hollered. "The Aurors are on their way."

Draco tore his hand from Claire’s, and at first his feet moved woodenly. He picked up speed at the end of the block and turned onto Diagon Alley again. His legs were hurting, and he didn't think these boots were meant for that much running. And none of that would have mattered, but everything inside him was crumbling.

 _Teddy._ It wasn't that Andromeda had called him her grandson, because sometimes Teddy _was_ her grandson. But he'd been the wrong Teddy, not the one that Draco read stories with at night. And Harry had been the wrong Harry, not the one who collapsed on the couch next to Draco when he’d finally gotten Maya back into bed. And the street had been the wrong street, not the one that Draco always trudged through in the cold.

His feet caught a slick patch, and he was on his knees again. It only took seconds for the wetness to start seeping through the knees of his pants. 

"Claire? Claire?" She hadn’t followed him this time; she was gone. Maybe she'd run out of time, or someone in charge had finally realized that he wasn't the kind of person who deserved angels.

He tried to get back to his feet, but he couldn’t step forward. It didn’t matter. He could run--he could search every street in London, and it didn’t mean he’d be able to find the kids who were missing from the home. Even if he did, it wouldn’t fix anything. He’d found Teddy, and it had still been all wrong.

Draco felt tears burning in his eyes, and he knuckled them out of the way. "Claire!" he shouted. "Undo this. Please. Please. Claire, I want to live again." He squinted his eyes closed, remembering how Claire had been talking to someone beyond herself, and whispered fiercely. "Please. I want to live again."

***

Something wet and cold dripped on his nose, and Draco opened his eyes. A snowflake. The sky was full of snowflakes catching each other on their way from the sky, piling on top of each other.

Draco took a ragged breath.

"Malfoy?"

He looked up. Someone was approaching him through the swirling snow, someone in Ministry robes. His heart lurched, and he reached for his wand, forgetting that it no longer existed. Only--there it was again, in the pocket of his coat.

"Draco Malfoy, is that you? There are people out of their warm houses searching all over London for you."

"You know who I am?" They'd said his name. Whoever it was, they recognized him. 

The figure stepped closer, and Draco squinted against the light of his illuminated wand. "Yes. Unless you're polyjuiced to look like Draco Malfoy. You're coming with me."

Draco couldn’t see the man’s face, but the voice seemed familiar. The ministry had found him. Which meant that he existed once again. This was his Diagon Alley, with his joke shop, and his Teddy, and his Harry Potter. 

If the ministry was going to take him, they’d have to catch him first. 

Draco staggered to his feet and started running. He passed his own home--it was mysteriously dark, no candles in the window, and the joke shop, once again boasting the rabbit and the hat on top of the building. 

"Malfoy!" The voice called behind him. "Why are you running? Stop." 

But Draco didn't stop. It was only a few more blocks to Potter's house, and if he could just see that the windows were flooded with light and the front room was crowded with the kids who needed Potter, that would be enough.

He skidded onto the block, glancing over his shoulder once to see the ministry official still shuffling behind him. Draco wasn't sure why the man hadn't drawn his wand and stunned Draco already, but he was grateful. Just another twenty feet--Draco grabbed the ledge of Potter's picture window, and his heart nearly burst. 

They were all there. Not just the kids that he'd come to love and worry about so much, but Teddy and Andromeda were there too. Fred and George were pointing wands at the train set, making it fly around the room, shooting bubbles from the smokestack. Luna was there, too, fitting strange goggles onto one of the youngest kids. 

"They're okay," Draco breathed. "They're all here."

"Of course they are. What did you think had happened to them? Are you going to keep running all over town or are you going to get in there?”

"In--you'd let me go in?"

The ministry official pushed back his hood, revealing that it was Kingsley Shacklebolt. Draco took an involuntary step backward. "Minister," he stammered. "What are you doing here?"

He leaned back to give Draco a more appraising look down his nose. "Potter sent a panicked Patronus to the ministry. There weren't many of us left there by that point, but we've been scouring the streets looking for you."

Draco had more questions, but Kingsley was practically forcing him in through the door at the moment. 

The person who was probably Teddy--today with short blond hair and a pointy chin, looking like a younger brother of Draco-- noticed Draco first. He came running across the room to launch himself at Draco’s legs.

Draco gathered him up into his arms and lifted him close. "Teddy." All he could feel was the fierce press of his arms squeezing Teddy's currently stick-thin body and the burning in his lungs. "Teddy, you're so beautiful." 

Andromeda approached and brushed the snowflakes off Draco’s shoulders and head. "Let go of Teddy. You're squeezing him to death."

Draco gave one last squeeze, then let Teddy squirm out of his arms. The rest of the kids from the home gathered around, all talking at once. Draco made a quick swipe at his eyes and catalogued them all. Holly, Alana, and Maya. Jamie and Zoe. All of them alive and well and here, right where they belonged. 

"Where's Harry?"

"He's still out looking for you," Kingsley intoned from behind him. "I sent a Patronus to track him down, so--"

The door rattled open again, and Draco spun around, heart already thumping in his ears. There was Harry, a red-and-gold scarf sloppily looped around his neck and mountains of snow resting on his black curls. 

Draco almost never looked right at Harry when he first came into the joke shop. And when he came to visit the home, he was usually busy talking with the kids instead of looking at Harry's face. He didn't have much to compare this moment to. The warmth that flooded his face and the way his eyes came alight. "Draco." 

Draco was still busy storing away that reaction of joy, so he hadn't braced himself at all for the moment that Harry threw his arms around Draco, smashing Draco’s cheek into his damp, scratchy scarf. "You're here."

"Of course I am," Draco said, disentangling himself from the hug ambush. "I don't know what the big deal is. I'm just a little late."

"Fred and George said you were coming after going to the bank, and you never showed up. Andromeda and Teddy said you never came home. And then the Aurors showed up looking for you."

"Oh," Draco said. He'd been hoping the issue with the Aurors had just gone away.

"They said you stole nearly a thousand galleons from the Weasleys, but we knew that couldn't be right. They're right over there." 

There were, in fact, two Aurors standing in the corner, sipping from cups of cocoa. Draco took a steadying breath and stepped toward them. "I'm ready to go with you," he said. "I don't want to make a scene in front of the kids."

"Wait, Draco!" Harry said. "And you, Dawes. Thompson. You've got to wait. They're coming.” Harry caught sight of something out the window and ran to the door, flinging it wide open. "Come on in!"

If the hug had come as a surprise, what came next made Draco sag against the piano weakly. 

People flooded into the room--schoolmates like Neville and the Greengrass sisters, shopkeepers from the menagerie and the bookstore, professors and ministry officials. And one by one, they each made their way to the piano, where Fred and George were beating out a rhythm on a laundry tub. 

"Donations for the keep Draco Malfoy out of Azkaban Again fund," Fred hollered. 

"Give early, give often," George added. 

Draco was ready to die from embarrassment. "No," he protested. "Nobody needs to--" But it was too late. Everyone was already dumping purses and pocketfuls of galleons into the pot. 

After the first rush of people died down and the kids had wound through the crowd with cookies, Ginny blew in through the door, freeing a jar of gold from her robes. “I heard we're taking up a collection. I've been saving this to get a divorce," she grinned. "If I ever decided to get married."

The fireplace lit up with green light, and a head popped up in the grate. "Hello! It's way too loud over there. Can anyone hear me?" 

Harry raised his hands for quiet. "Hermione's in the fireplace."

"Thanks," she said. "Much better. We tracked down Lockhart since witnesses placed him out on the street when Draco disappeared. A quick _prior incantato_ revealed that he'd cast a memory charm last."

Ron's head forced its way into the grate next to hers. "And a niffler gave him a quick sniff and found that he had two giant bags of gold on him. Investigations are ongoing, but we've got him in custody." 

"If you've already arrested him, come on through," Harry called. "The party's just begun."

There was laughter and shouting, a Christmas train that kept circling them and showering down bubbles. Teddy was deep in conversation with some of Harry's kids, and Andromeda was embracing Molly. 

It was wonderful. 

And then Harry was by his side. "I'm glad we found you," he said. 

"And I'm glad the joke shop is going to be alright." Draco answered. To say nothing of the children's home. With Lockhart arrested, he wouldn't be able to do much to slander Harry's Home. 

"That's not--I mean that is important, of course it is. George and Fred are important to me. But I couldn't do this without you. I don't know if you understand that." 

Harry downed the rest of whatever was in his glass in a single swig and set it down on the piano. 

"I do understand," Draco said. "I know I help you keep this place going. And it means the world to me."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, his signature move for when the kids were driving him crazy. Draco didn't know what he'd done to merit that. 

"That's not what I mean. I mean, it is. It's part of it, because you help me be the person that I want to be in the world, even though sometimes I think I'm going to absolutely lose my mind. But also, I think--oh Merlin. This is the wrong time for this, but I'm going to do it anyway. I'm at least part way towards being in love with you, and I have been for a long time."

"You what?" Draco said, looking around to see if there were other glasses with beverages, hopefully something strong and burning. "I'm sorry, I've been having a very strange evening. I think Lockhart went poking around in my head. It sounded like you just said that you were sort of in love with me." 

Harry grimaced. His hands were at his side now, but his hair looked a mess. "You heard right. But if you want to pretend that everything I just said was part of the weirdness of today, you can. I can't... half the reason I haven't said anything until now is because I can't afford to lose you, and neither can the kids."

Draco looked out the window to make sure that it was still snowing. To make sure that no higher power had heard his inner plea and decided to interfere with Harry. 

"Say something," Harry said. "Even if it's just...'Go talk to someone else.'" 

Oh, right. Draco was staring out the window and ignoring the fact that Harry was right here, confessing his sort-of-love. "Uh, yes. The feelings are mutual. All that. But I don't want to create a scene in front of every living person we--" 

It was too late, because Harry had just thrown his arms around Draco and pulled him close. "Are you being serious? Can I kiss you?"

And even though it would definitely create a scene, Draco pressed his lips together, "I suppose you can do that."

Harry leaned close, but missed Draco's face, instead leaning over his ear. "Thank you, Draco. You make my life so much richer." 

"I thought you were going to kiss me," Draco whispered back. 

Harry laughed, and this time his lips found their mark. 


End file.
